Best Friends
by birdie7272
Summary: John never expected his sleepover with Sherlock to turn out this way...Johnlock. Teen!lock. Oneshot. Smut. (How the sleepover in "I'm Gay for Sherlock" should have happened). Prompt by shiko1122


**AN:** How the sleepover in _I'm Gay for Sherlock _should have happened. I recommend the read but you don't have to if you're only in it for a smut-fix. (I completely understand).

I would have tagged it onto the fic but I'm leaving that one open for the possibility of more chronological chapters.

Prompt by Shiko1122

* * *

><p><em>Drumline<em>

It was a movie about drums…or something.

John completely forgot. Every working cell in his brain shattered after Sherlock said, "It's kinda hot up here."

I had been an innocent hangout. A night with video games and soda and pizza and movies. Nothing more. Just two best friends chilling at their first sleepover.

One of them just happened to have grown half a foot and developed the sharpest cheekbones in the history of man.

But it was fine. It was all fine. Fine and innocent.

Alright, it didn't feel that innocent.

Especially when John turned to question the sudden rise in temperature and a sudden wave of that unexplainable heat spike hit him with full intensity. Sherlock was lifting up his shirt and exposed a long, lean torso resting against the mattress on his bed. John's bed.

Yes, it was hot wasn't it? A completely- um… innocent- heat.

Now shirtless Sherlock leaned down and sprawled over the blanket as if he owned the spot, much like a cat. Taking up much more space than he had originally, forcing John to move to the end of the bed and then some. He was stuck teetering on the edge as his eyes followed the curving muscles in Sherlock's back and he swallowed another gulp of his Mountain Dew. Then another, then another -until three glasses were pumping sugar through his already shaking body.

John tried to watch the movie but found everything Sherlock did to be distracting. His milky white skin glowed in the blue light of the TV and drew John's attention every time he moved an inch as it caused the rays to shift. John did not even notice when the movie ended until his guest decided to walk up and change the DVD for him.

John was fairly certain he thanked him, but now he could see the front of his friend, toned muscles pulling over his firm chest and leading down his abdomen, outlined by the angular bones drawing his eyes below the band of those jeans. When did he start working out?

Sherlock might have said something, like the movie he chose, but John didn't hear. He just nodded his head and closed his eyes and prayed that he could keep himself under control.

If only it would stop being so hot.

Another glass of Mountain Dew did nothing to tame the heat and that made him think…Sherlock was the genus and losing layers would cool him down more than room temperature soda. John rolled his cup in his hand as Sherlock jumped back to his spot, sprawled next to him, and took up the majority of the space again. He tried to be quiet as he placed his glass on his nightstand, though he didn't really know why. The TV volume was up loud so it wouldn't interrupt whatever movie was playing.

There. That was done. Cup out of hand. Now just to reach down and pull off the shirt. It was no big deal. Sherlock had just thrown his off willy-nilly and it wasn't even his room. It was John's room. Yeah, it was John's room! He could take his shirt off if he wanted. Whenever he wanted!

That didn't prevent his palms from sweating as he wrung his fingers together and played with the hem of his shirt. It didn't even have buttons. It was just a pullover. It wouldn't even take that long. Just one-

"Are you going to take that off or continue to pet it like some obedient dog?" Sherlock snapped, still looking at the TV. "Don't be modest on my account. It is your room after all."

Well…now he was embarrassed. Sherlock was still watching the movie but he was sure he could see him blush as much as he could see him fiddling with his shirt.

Well, he didn't want to embarrass himself more by saying no. And Sherlock was a guest. A guest who requested…alright, maybe not requested but he said it was okay. John gripped the sides of his shirt and tossed it from his body.

There. Done. Shirt off. Good.

Nope. Still hot.

He poured himself yet another glass and leaned against the wall to drink it. The wall was cool, for a few moments at least, but it didn't take long for him to heat it up.

He looked down to his feet and started to toe off his socks while having a mini panic attack. Would Sherlock think that was weird? Did he not like feet? Was he wearing socks? No he wasn't. But what if his feet smelled? He was already sweating and now one sock was half off and he couldn't stop now or he would be the dope with one sock half off.

He toed off both socks and let them fall to the floor. The world was still intact.

But what was with the fucking sauna?!

Had he really drunk that much soda? The two liter looked pretty depleted. What was he thinking? He was going to have to piss so bad. Didn't really matter since he wasn't watching…was this _Die Hard_? Now that he thought about it, he really did have to go. And- oh god. That was Sherlock's arm touching his thigh. Why was he touching him? Was he really sprawled out that much? Did he need to be? No. He was doing that on purpose.

Now he was just getting hotter. This was impossible. That's it, bathroom!

"I'll um-" He jumped up as quick as he could, almost knocking what was left of the soda on the floor. "I'll be right back."

He practically ran to the bathroom down the hall and bolted himself inside. It was cool in there. The tiles were cold and he shoved his body right down and caught his breath with his back on the floor. He needed to get calm.

Why? There was nothing to calm down from. It was a sleepover. He'd had plenty of those with Mike and Greg before. There was nothing different with Sherlock. Sherlock was Sherlock. A ten foot giant with a voice that could knock a grown man off his feet, but still Sherlock. His best friend and that's it. Yup…that was it. Best. Friend.

John hopped off the floor, splashed cold water over his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was a mess and he knew it. Red face, sweaty –and now watery- forehead, pinched brow, and flushed cheeks. There was no helping him. He had to face his very…distracting friend. Best friend. Who was distracting because…well, because he was. No need to read into it.

When he finished using the bathroom, he returned to his room with new determination.

Make it through the movie and sleep. And not dream about Sherlock. Again. Good goals, John.

And those good goals went straight to hell when he opened his door and found Sherlock now pantsless in addition to the lack of shirt. Almost nude Sherlock was on his bed. Sprawled out over his bed in fact. Sprawled out and wow…he had muscles on his thighs.

John's wandering eyes soon followed the boxers brushing that thigh to the area best friends were probably not supposed to look. He couldn't see anything, not really, but his cock didn't know that and decided to twitch against his jeans anyway. Goddammit.

"I hope you don't mind," Sherlock casually said, rocking his leg back and forth as he continued to watch…that wasn't _Die Hard_. "I can't sleep unless I'm free of constrictions."

"Mind?" John was stuck leaning against his door, his eyes fixated on the to and fro of Sherlock leg. If he leaned it out far enough, John could see inside the gap of his boxers, just a bit. "Why would I- I mean. I don't. Don't mind, that is."

"Good," Sherlock suddenly flipped to a sitting position. "You want yours off too?"

"Do I- um-" John's mouth suddenly went dry and he couldn't remember how to finish a sentence. Where was that Mountain Dew? "Do I want-"

"To take your pants off, yes." Sherlock grinned smoothly and nodded towards his jeans, in case he forgot what he was talking about. "Unless you plan on sleeping in them. Though, it is rather hot, wouldn't you say? You usually sleep in the blue sweatpants on the floor of your closet but they are dirty. Your sister borrowed them without your knowledge."

"How did you-" Sherlock raised a brow and he nodded. "Right, never mind."

"So."

"So?"

"Take them off, John."

"Oh, um-" John looked back down at his pants and frowned. It was as though he forgot their function. Button, zipper, what?

In the pause between breaths Sherlock had moved in front of him, silent and fast as a ghost. The air sweeping in from his sudden appearance pushed John flat against the door and he suddenly felt off balance and needed to reach out to keep himself straight.

"Are you okay, John?"

"Am I-"

"You appear to have fainted. Unless there was another reason you were lying on the bathroom floor?"

"Floor?"

Sherlock pressed his body closer and lifted his hand to John's head. John instinctively tried to take a step back but there was nowhere to go and Sherlock's hand carded through his hair and pulled gently at the roots from the top of his head to the bottom of his neck. He felt his knees start to wobble as the room started to blur and the only thing he could see was Sherlock's perfect curvy lips coming closer and closer and then suddenly further away. Sherlock controlled him like a magnet, pulling him as he pulled back.

Then Sherlock held up his hand and showed him the q-tip he pulled from his hair. The hot eruption of blood rushing to his face with humiliating embarrassment was a relief from the push he felt against his jeans but it wasn't exactly welcome.

"Uhh-" Apparently there was an overwhelming amount of blood because that was the most intelligent thing he could come up with.

Sherlock smirked and tossed the q-tip away. "Maybe you should lie down, John. I'd hate for you to fall again."

"Lie down. Um- yeah. Yeah- okay. That's-" he gulped and looked at the bed that suddenly seemed too far away. "Okay."

He could feel his body buzzing with sugar and nerves as he took his first step. Sherlock wouldn't move out of the way so he had to shuffle around him but couldn't look away even as he did. He backed towards his bed with his eyes on the boy simply staring. Sherlock always stared. He wondered if there was something else in his hair.

Sherlock stalked after him, slowly backing him all the way, until his knees hit his mattress and he fell back. Sherlock gave him a small smile and in one graceful move, he buckled his knees and knelt in front of the bed.

"Here. I'll help you with that, shall I?"

Sherlock's hand were suddenly undoing the button to his jeans and John's brain didn't catch up in time for the zip to be down and the fabric to be pulled down his legs. The breeze hit him instantly, brushing against his thigh. His far too upper thigh.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed as he swept the jeans John wore to the floor. "Commando? You really must catch up on your laundry."

John squeaked and flung his hands over his crotch, hiding the dick that was half hard and growing. What was it doing? Betrayer.

Actually, no. What was Sherlock doing?

"I lied earlier," Sherlock said as he moved to John's side and sat on the bed too.

"You did?" John could barely believe a comprehensible noise escaped his throat.

"Yes," he nodded and quickly flung his boxers to the floor. "I usually sleep in the nude."

John's eyes were bugging out of their sockets. He tried to remind himself that he had to look away. That he couldn't look at _that_ part of Sherlock. No matter how curious he was about the rumors of his growth spurt affecting all parts of him.

Yet, there he was, staring with greedy eyes and a mouth that refused to do anything other than hang loose and whimper. John had never actually seen Sherlock's cock before. Not really. But there was no way it didn't grow a half a foot along with him. That thing was enormous. Not too thick but it was very long and it curved right towards his stomach with how firm it was. Blushing pink, hard and erect.

Sherlock didn't say anything and John couldn't bring himself to look up. Not while he was pressing against his own boner, pushing it back into place and willing it to go down.

What was even happening?! He had just went to go use the bathroom. He comes back and now he's completely naked, on his bed, with Sherlock? His best friend.

Oooooh this was bad. So not good.

Then, his best friend flopped back onto the bed with his hands behind his head, as if nothing was wrong, and turned his attention to the TV. John looked to the ground and wondered where the sleeping bag went. Hadn't they put one out for Sherlock? Was he hallucinating? Was this another dream?

"I'd rather share the bed," Sherlock said, reading his mind. "Hard wood is bad for the back. Unless you know what you're doing."

And didn't that sound as suggestive as fuck.

It left John in the same position, holding himself -now fully erect- and wondering why he wasn't saying anything. Why he wasn't going to put on a pair of shorts, the dirty ones or something, and throw a pair to Sherlock. Why wasn't he saying something? What if someone came in? What if-

What was the door doing locked? He didn't do that.

He turned to Sherlock because Sherlock always had the answers and came face to face with an amused, cocky smirk. He abruptly lurched at the way those dark eyes made his stomach flip and he found all questions dying on his lips.

"Aren't you going to lie down?" Sherlock gestured towards the bed and John could only nod. Well, he didn't mean to but his body was making the decision for him.

It was the slowest and most awkward move possible to lie down on his bed. He stayed military straight as he stared up at the ceiling and refused to budge, shaking with the fear of uncertainty. What the hell was going on?

"John," Sherlock pushed against his side and hovered near his chin. "Unless you plan on moving the TV above your bed, I believe you'll want to be on your side."

Of course. How could John be so stupid? Movie. About drums. No that one ended. Movie about…car chases or something.

Why was it still so hot with all his clothes off?

The turn to his side was just as awkward as his turn to the bed. He finally faced the TV but he couldn't remember what he rented. There was just screaming and loud explosions and was that Sherlock's hand on his shoulder?

"I want to watch too," Sherlock's breath hit the back of his ear and his breathing hitched -completely noticeable but he still hoped the most observant man he knew would not notice it.

It seemed he did because he only grabbed John's shoulder tighter and tilted him towards his body, making him press against the hot chest behind so he could see over John's neck.

Hot. Very hot. Sherlock was hot too. So if Sherlock was hot, John wasn't weirdly feverish then. Not at all. The heater was just broken. Or something.

"Are you afraid it's going to run away?"

"Hm?"

"Your hands. You can't be comfortable like that."

"Oh- no- I'm- I'm fine." What was with all the squeaking? He sounded like Sherlock before he got all big and hunky.

Did he really just call Sherlock hunky?

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock cooed in his ear and John tensed as he felt the hand move down his shoulder, over his arm, and directly over his hand. Directly over his cock.

God and Jesus in heaven. His dick twitched and actually pushed up on all three hands pressing against it. He had the sudden thought that if he moved quick enough, it would only be Sherlock's bare flesh brushing against him and he twitched again.

Sherlock pulled John's hand away with more strength than he realized Sherlock had. Well, he had grown. He just couldn't get over that. Or maybe John was too much a quivering wreck to fight him on it because, next thing he knew, his hand was lying against his chest and Sherlock pinned it there by his wrist.

"Do you need help with the other?"

John jumped at Sherlock's voice –again- and looked down at the hand left covering his groin, barely doing anything to hide the erection popping out between his fingers. He suddenly realized Sherlock was probably staring at the same part of him and felt his body flush and the muscles in his stomach pull with a flutter of anticipation.

His hand shook in its place, sending friction down the shaft and pushing it in the absolute opposite direction he wanted it to go. His nerves were only making him excited and it wasn't as if Sherlock hadn't already seen him. He slowly peeled his fingers away and let his hand drop to his thigh, not ready to drop it all the way to the bed yet.

"Good boy," Sherlock purred in his ear with that goddamn perfect voice of his. He could feel the vibrations of that low pitch rumble across his back and, if it were possible, he found himself turned on more by that simple and yet completely _not innocent_ whisper.

This sleepover was screwed to hell. Best friends did not strip together. Best friends did not grow hard at the sight or sound of each other. Best friends did not then proceed to lie down together naked. Best friends did not ask to for full exposal and then whisper 'good boy' into the other's ear. This was the opposite of innocent. This was purposeful and provocative.

"John?" By Sherlock's tone, it was obvious he had called his name more than once.

"Hm? Yes?" He managed not to squeak in responding but soon did when the rest of Sherlock pressed against him, lining up the very long and very erect cock of one young Holmes against his lower back, just barely sliding in between the cheeks of his ass. He felt all the air leave his body as all thoughts went directly there and he could do or feel nothing but Sherlock's hot rod pressing stiffly against his tailbone.

Everything was going dizzy.

"I can hear you thinking from here." John would have answered Sherlock but he was a bit preoccupied in trying to get his hammering heart back under control. "John. Look at me."

John felt hopeless and he obviously wasn't in control of his body so it listened to the first one giving it directions. He turned his head and found himself nose to nose with Sherlock who inspected him with those beautiful, forever-moving blues. John felt entranced as he watched them dart around but soon found his attention brought to those lips. Those curving lips that had not changed. Not since the first day they met. They were very close and they were moving as Sherlock spoke, "What are you thinking about?"

John licked his lips and tried to find an answer. He had none. Sherlock clearly knew what was happening, what he was doing. Hell, he could feel Sherlock's approval digging against his back. But a part of him just couldn't believe it. This was his best friend. Had he said that already?

"Um-" John didn't really know what else to do.

Sherlock's head slithered like the cunning snake he was and his lips were suddenly against John's earlobe, breathily asking, "Am I making you nervous, John?"

John's breath hitched again, worse at the call of his name, and in a blink Sherlock was above him, hovering an inch away. "Um-"

"Would you like me to stop?" he breathed against John's lips and another flash of that uncertainty reared its ugly head. John felt his body move, though he wasn't entirely sure what it was doing. Apparently, it was shaking his head no. "What do you want, John?"

John felt trapped, stuck between that hot, lean body pressing against him and the arm pinning him to it. His eyes tried to look away from the boy above but he was too close, forcing them to keep contact. John twitched, almost as if he wanted to escape it but the moment he did, Sherlock's member rubbed against him and he actually heard Sherlock moan in his ear and he gasped at the filthy, rich sound.

He stayed stock still and gawked as Sherlock hissed through his teeth and came back into focus. "Is that what you want, John?" Sherlock rolled his body against him and John was the one to hiss. "Is it me you want?"

Fuck that. Best Friends don't need to be innocent all the time.

The sugar mixed with the adrenaline had him bobbing his chin faster than his dizzy head could register. John's never nodded faster in his life. He actually did feel a bit of faint at the prospect.

Before he do such an idiotic thing, Sherlock's hand left his chest and cupped his chin, forcing him to stay conscious and still. John didn't know what to do other than comply and ball his hands into fists where they lay against his body.

His eyes darted as quick as Sherlock's in trying to read his companion's face. The only feeling he could deduce from that focused gaze and loose lips was lust. The shock of such a strong emotion rolling between the minimal space between them forced him to close his eyes. It was in that moment Sherlock struck, smashing their lips together for a quick, closed kiss.

John was pulled through the air when Sherlock pulled away, not ready for him to leave. He was just about to kiss back.

Apparently, Sherlock figured that out because when John opened his eyes it was too that cocky smile. Damn that smile for sending a thrill through him and making him stare at those stupid lips which were just on his own dumb mouth.

John was silenced when Sherlock's hand lifted from his chin and his thumb ran across his bottom lip. He dropped his jaw, as if it were a silent order and Sherlock gave a pleased grunt, followed by the small twitch of hips pushing against him. That long cock bounced painfully hard against his vertebra and he arched into the blunt grind, all to hear the moan he was dutifully rewarded.

Sherlock moved his thumb just in time to capture John's mouth with his own. John didn't think this time, reacted with full excitement and intent as he left his jaw slack and pushed his lips back. Sherlock's hold tightened on his neck and he curved his head more, waiting for Sherlock to push out his tongue so he could suck it into his mouth. His hands continued to fumble against his chest and thigh, unsure of what else he could do with them.

It was only when Sherlock had John's lip in a tantalizing bite that he had the wonderful idea to flip over so he could grab onto this mad genius. He was nervous about it, jerked at first and unsure if that was what Sherlock wanted. That was until Sherlock roughly grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to flip, quickly running his hand to John's lower back and forcing him to untangle is legs as he pulled him as close as they could be.

They were burning in the fiery depths of hell. It was the only explanation for how hot it had become as John's aching cock pushed against that tone stomach, slid down to the abdomen, and rubbed against Sherlock's member. Never before had John wished to be a damned and trapped inside the burning second circle so bad.

John shuffled his hands out of the space between their bodies as Sherlock refused to let him bend away for a single second or break their kiss. He managed to get one hand loose and tangled it into Sherlock's hair, pulling him by the curls behind his ear so they could press their bruising lips even harder together.

Best friends should do this all the time.

Sherlock was relentless in the attack. His thrust his tongue towards John's, pulled him in, pushed him out, then chomped on everything he could reach. John literally had to rip his head away in order to catch his breath and attempt to keep his heart from exploding.

Teeth latched onto his neck a moment later and he bucked into the arms keeping him close. The moan he let out at the feel of his hips clapping against Sherlock's was loud enough for him to untangle the hand curled in Sherlock's hair and smack it over his mouth.

Sherlock chuckled darkly and dragged his mouth up to John's ear, playing with the lobe with his teeth and tongue. John squirmed as Sherlock breathed into him, breaking into small whimpers for only John to hear. It calmed him, which was probably the problem because as soon as he could stop hearing his own pants, Sherlock bucked into him hard and would not give in. He smashed into him over and over, rolling his hard cock into John's front and rubbed their lengths together with a maddening amount of pressure and determination.

John cried, "Sherlock", from behind his hand and curled the other into Sherlock's peck, biting his nails across the skin and closing his eyes as pleasure erupted with every rock.

Sherlock suddenly stopped and pulled them apart. John whined and tried to lean back towards him but he pushed him away and reached for the nightstand. John pulled his hand away from his mouth, finally thinking of using the power of speech but Sherlock came back quick, shoving their mouths back together.

John had to wonder what point more soda could bring, but couldn't think of it long. He was yearning to mash their bodies together again and took it upon himself to start rolling his hips and he held onto Sherlock's shoulder as he slid up and down.

Sherlock's mouth was back at his ear before he realized it had left his open mouth and he whispered, "Tell me if you need to stop."

Need to stop? No. Never stop. Never stop this. He wanted to burn.

John groaned and continued to slap their centers together to prove he was in it for every bit as long as Sherlock was, when a leg pushing him onto his back stilled him. John rolled over but his hips still thrust into the air, searching for the pressure it missed. Sherlock shushed him with another kiss that trailed from his mouth, licked over his jaw, climbed down his neck, and passed over his pecks and stomach.

As Sherlock's teeth kneaded the soft flesh of his tummy John's hormonally fogged brain realized what direction that mouth was headed. He snapped his head towards the ceiling as his dick snapped against Sherlock's neck. The thoughts swimming somewhere inside his brain were moving too fast for him to catch up.

Sherlock, mouth, blow job. Did he know how? Had he done it before? He did go to Europe. Oh god, blow job. By a man. A man was going to suck his dick. And it was Sherlock. Sherlock was going to- oh god.

The head of his cock was wrapped in a sudden wave of wet heat as Sherlock started sucking.

Do that.

John moaned aloud again and slammed a hand over his mouth, only to have it ripped away by Sherlock, staring up at him from under thick lashes and scowling at his self-discipline. Scowling with his lips wrapped around his cock. John's body was vibrating with the need to shove more than just his head into that wonderful mouth of his, but he had some control.

Then Sherlock wrapped a hand around his staff and he couldn't help the lift of his hips and the claw of his hands.

It was more than just Sherlock's palm pressing against him. As he swept his hand around, it became apparent that it was slicked with more than just the thin veil of sweat that seemed to encompass all of John's body. Sherlock's hand easily fondled what part of him was exposed as he continued to suck. But what was that wet stuff popping with his movements?

John gasped as Sherlock's mouth popped off and his hand pulled over the film of saliva and covered it with, "Lube?" John huffed, "You brought it with you?"

"Cherry," Sherlock said, sending the vibrations of that voice straight through him. He then proceeded to lick a line from the base of his cock and flatten his tongue at the head, pushing on the sensitized member before pulling away with a pop. "Want a taste?"

John felt unsteady as he watched Sherlock lick his lips and return to sucking at his head. It felt like he was floating off the bed and Sherlock was of course the one pulling him higher.

Fingers were suddenly coming into focus in front of his mouth and he realized what Sherlock intended him to do.

He tentatively flicked out his tongue and lapped at the fingertips nearly touching his chin. Sherlock pressed his hand more and John opened for him, lifted himself off the bed, and swallowed half the digits inside. He was small in his licks. Cherry wasn't exactly the flavor he would say it was. It was completely artificial and a bit weird but under it all was Sherlock, tasting of pizza and tea.

At first he did little more than suck. Then Sherlock moved, his lips tightly circling him as he pushed down his cock. John bit down at the fingers in his mouth, worried for only a moment that he had hurt him, before Sherlock thrust them forward and he sucked them harder. He circled his tongue as Sherlock circled his head and pulled at the space between fingers, taking him in until his fingertips brushed the back of his mouth. He gagged, though he didn't mean to, and quickly grabbed Sherlock by his wrist so he would not pull away.

Sherlock moaned around his cock and he moaned back. He danced his tongue in the empty spaces and hallowed his cheeks until every bit of lube on the fingers was gone. Then Sherlock slipped his fingers out and wiped the wetness back onto his lips before trailing over his throat and trailing down until he was cupping John's dick once again.

The ecstasy of both mouth and hand working in perfect harmony drove John wild with exhilaration. With how fast Sherlock bobbed, John wasn't sure he could last very long. He dug his hands into the bedding and twisted it into his fists but it wasn't enough to control him. He was clenching his legs to Sherlock's shoulders, tense at every muscle, and he could barely breathe any more than it took to say Sherlock's name.

It was nearing the time he would warn Sherlock that his need was about to erupt when the sudden penetration of a slicked finger into his body sent a jolt of understanding to his brain.

Sherlock's mouth was a miracle, keeping him on the brink of pleasure, but that finger slowly pressing inside was enough to keep him grounded. He must have yelped aloud because Sherlock's hand jumped from rubbing down his cock and slid up to his stomach, petting the hairs from his belly button and up to his nipples, playing with them for a few moments before trailing them back up to his mouth.

John wasn't quite sure what to do with the fingers at his chin. He wasn't quite sure of anything in that moment. It hurt. Not too unbearably but it was definitely uncomfortable. He never had anything go in that way before. He wasn't even aware Sherlock's finger had been there in the first place.

The only reason Sherlock would be playing with him like this would be for one of two things. To find his prostate and undeniably send him to cloud nine. Or…yes, that other thing.

Sherlock's fingers poked his mouth and he obediently opened up, sucking him inside and cautiously playing with the digits. As he did, Sherlock pushed further inside, taking his time until he was fully encased up to the knuckle. Well, that was new.

It was when Sherlock started running a second finger along his entrance that John bit down. It was perhaps a bit too hard because Sherlock pulled his fingers away and pet at his face.

Sherlock pulled his mouth from its perfect position, chewed at his inner thigh, and mumbled in the rich baritone, "Oh, John. Do you know how long I've wanted you? To see you like this. To watch you fall apart. And now that I have you, I can't help wanting more. You do that to me. Make me want things I shouldn't. Would you let me? Would you let me take more? Let me take you John. Please, let me take you. John-"

"Oh god yes," John breathed and Sherlock wasted no time sucking him back inside and pushing a second finger against him.

John hissed as the digit slid against the first until he stretched enough to suck it inside. It burned in an uncomfortable sting but Sherlock's mouth turned out to be distracting enough. He hallowed his cheeks and swallowed him down into a constricting heat that could take away any lingering doubts in an instant.

Of course, it was impossible to ignore the take and give of two fingers wiggling inside his body, scissoring and stretching open. When Sherlock's tongue swept over his head the same time he rolled his head back, a third finger joined.

He whined painfully and clenched his hands tighter, trying to establish a sense of relaxation that seemed to outreach him. He breathed through his teeth and focused on Sherlock's hand, still petting this chest. He was so focused he didn't even notice when the fingers disappeared. Not until Sherlock's mouth popped from his dick to his mouth and started silencing his cries with his artificially flavored tongue.

"John-" Sherlock breathed and John let go of the bed long enough to draw him closely on top of him and run his nails over the curve of that smooth back.

Their kiss was wet and messy and held enough mutual anxiousness to get the ball rolling.

Sherlock pulled him to his side and lined his body up behind him again. He continued to kiss any part of him he could reach until his mouth settled on the back of John's shoulder.

John could feel the head of Sherlock's cock line up with his stretched entrance but any amount of preparation was not going to calm him. He grabbed at the messed up comforter and gritted his teeth as he waited for the shock of it all.

It didn't come. Not right away. Sherlock was busy drawing patterns with his tongue on his shoulder blade and biting away any creation he made. John lulled into the repetition and relaxed more when Sherlock's hand started gently, just barely touching, tickling his side and caressing his leg. John hardly noticed his nerves when Sherlock pulled his leg up and pushed against him.

The push was slight, growing in pressure, until the penetration. It couldn't have been more than an inch but John's body couldn't tell the difference. He tried to relax but it still felt so strange and abnormal. If it weren't for Sherlock's other hand sliding under his side and wrapping him from underneath, he would have scrambled to get away.

Sherlock gradually started to press, not making it very far before John made a strangled noise. He released his hand from its vice-like grip and rushed to cover his mouth for the umpteenth time but Sherlock grabbed it before it could reach.

"I need to hear you," was all he said.

John still closed his mouth but grunted his acknowledgment.

Sherlock continued to move inside of him, taking his time, paying attention to every whine that came out of John's mouth, and changing his course of direction whenever necessary.

This was all happening but John couldn't believe it. He was a bundle of nerves and hormones and, yes, he was scared. Sherlock told him to say if he needed to stop but whenever he thought he may need to, Sherlock would slow down and kiss his spine, lick the back of his neck, and say things like, "Such a good boy, John. You're doing so well. Taking all of me inside you. Only a bit more. Can you do that for me, John? My wonderful, beautiful idiot.", until he was pliant yet again. And who wouldn't be with pleas and praises like those.

He was a trembling wreck by the time Sherlock cooed at him for taking all of him inside. He'd never felt so full before and it was strangely satisfying to know that Sherlock was the one inside of him, falling apart with moans and bites of approval. John thought he might have to borrow one of Sherlock's scarfs in order to hide the bruises dotting his neck.

"John-" Sherlock gasped near his ear. Sherlock Holmes, of all people, unraveling because of something he was doing. And he wasn't even doing anything. "John, please. John-"

"Sherlock," John cried as silently as he could and Sherlock started to pull back.

The loss and fill of his body was slow and extraordinary. Sherlock wrapped his hand around his hips to keep him still as he steadily curved his own. John's hands turned white in the sheets as he prepared for the odd sensation, doing all he could to try to focus on Sherlock right behind him, helped by the mark he was making on the dip of his shoulder.

After a few more controlled pulses, John started to feel the change.

The small hisses from behind a clenched jaw turned to breathy moans that he couldn't control and were only growing in volume, no matter how many times he told himself there were others in the house. Sherlock picked up the pace and pulled further and further out of him before pounding all the way inside.

John felt his body rock, only kept on his side by Sherlock's tight grip, and tried to push back, resulting in another blast of unexpected pleasure. He tried again, throwing out his hand behind him and clutching it onto Sherlock's hip. He twisted his hips and impaled himself on the cock already driving its way inside. His tight whole cried out but his body filled with desire and Sherlock actually whined behind him.

A giddy kind of glee filled him up and he urged his body to have that cock pierce him again and again. He was taut as he sprung up and down so it came as a full surprise when he tensed even more at the simple curve of his stomach. He felt an intense rush of want spread through every inch of him and he screamed without control.

Before he could cover his mouth, Sherlock was already doing it for him and panting in his ear, "Again, John. Please."

John gave a muffled yelp and did as Sherlock asked, crying out again when the same sensation hit him. Added to that came Sherlock's hand, skimming from the bruising grip on his hip to his cock where he started to tug.

John had completely forgot about his own arousal, so focused on Sherlock. So, the moment he was overtaken by that hand, the knowledge of what they were doing being the least innocent thing best friends could do, and the feel of Sherlock's cock skimming his pleasure spot inside, he couldn't stand a chance. He arched his body and bit against Sherlock's damp palm as he came, all over the bed and Sherlock's pumping fist.

Sherlock rode him through it gently. Then he really started to thrash.

He had been holding back, that much was apparent. The bed started to shake with the force of him and John shook as he allowed himself to be taken over. Sherlock thrust into him so hard he was sure bruises would be everywhere down his back. If he didn't sit for a week that would be alright with him. He just came. He was being fucked by Sherlock. Everything was alright.

It didn't take long for Sherlock's hips to shudder and John realized he must have been coming. He tightened his muscles, though he didn't think he could get more snug, and Sherlock moaned long and low into his ear until he lay still with exhaustion.

The two, completely annihilated, tried and failed to catch their breath.

Sherlock pulled himself out slow and John whimpered at him being gone, even if he was still right there.

As demolished as he felt, John welcomed Sherlock pushing him onto his back and with tired eyes he watched Sherlock straddle him, only to if it was to get off the bed. He reached out to stop him and Sherlock gave him an annoyed, but pleased, glare.

"I'll be right back."

John looked to his hand and saw the used condom. "You were wearing- oh. I'm an idiot."

"Yes you are. But luckily, I was able to think."

"I didn't notice," he sighed, and wiggled into the sheets, closing his eyes.

"Of course you didn't. You were rather preoccupied."

"I'd yell at you for being cocky but you are right."

Sherlock kissed him and his eyes fluttered open for only a moment before he was lazily kissing back. Then Sherlock was gone and he woke a few seconds later to a wet cloth flung over his stomach. He was lazy in his cleaning and threw it somewhere on the floor, only content when Sherlock crawled on the bed next to him and forced him under the blanket.

He rolled over and curled into Sherlock side, happy when his best friend's arms curled around his back. He couldn't get over how big Sherlock had grown. John was actually curling into him instead of the other way around. He didn't mind in the slightest.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"I haven't brushed my teeth."

Sherlock chuckled into the hairs on the top of his head. "Do it later."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're my best friend."

"I'm glad you're my best friend too."

"And, Sherlock?"

"Go to sleep, John."

"Okay." John gave a diluted yawn as his body and brain fought him from saying more. "People really will talk now. I don't mind. I don't mind we missed the dance either. Cus I think I like you. So they can-" He yawned again. "-kiss my ass. Unless you wanted to do that."

"Stop flirting, John. Sleep."

"Okay." John thought he wanted to say more but couldn't remember and let himself fall asleep.

When John woke, it was to knocking at the door. "Johnny! If you're done fucking your boyfriend, I'm getting in the shower. Do either of you need to get in before I do?"

The morning lag caught up with him and he realized what his sister just said. She heard them?! An embarrassing flush filled his face again and he found himself immobile in Sherlock's arms, unable to make a sound.

"No, Harry," Sherlock answered for him, calm and collected as ever. "You go ahead."

"Mom's awake downstairs so keep it down."

John finally managed to yell, "Shut up, Harry!"

"I think it's you who should shut up, John." Sherlock smirked and pulled him closer, bumping their morning wood together. "It's only polite to your mother."

"Fuck, Sherlock."

"You're very demanding, John."

John had to kiss that stubborn mouth silent. What followed was just a bit of fun.

Completely not innocent, best kind of sleepover, fun.


End file.
